Justice
by stranger12
Summary: He was a righteous man


**The Mentalist – Justice**

He was a righteous man

* * *

It was easy to forget about what had come before, and he could still have something in the future, when he had his hands around his nemesis's neck, when all there was in his world was his undoing, his revenge, his family's blood, his nightmares, his everything.

Everything rode on his quest to identify Red John, to unmask him, to ambush him, to end his reign of terror. Red John would be a man under his hands, he would be easy to vanquish, for he was vengeance, and Red John was nothing compared to the rage, the anguish, the heartbreak, the depression he had felt ever since he returned home only to find the two people he loved, the only people he had ever loved, dead because of nothing they had done.

Red John would pay, he would pay with each strangled breath, with each gasp as it became more and more evident that he was dying, that there would be no mercy, for he had none in him for his victims, so why would his killer have any left for him? He would see into his eyes that it was serious, it was real, and it was final, his final moments in life would be filled with nothing but pain and the slow realization that his plans were worthless in face of a righteous man.

Or not a righteous man, for what was righteous about killing a man? About Strangling every bit of life in him? About enjoying the way his eyes widened in horror at what was happening to his body? About marveling at how easy, how truly pleasurable it was to squeeze, squeeze, just a little bit more, just a little more pressure and it would all be over, Red John would be over, he would be over.

He would be over. His future was over. His past-

His past was long gone, nothing remained, and even his memories had began to fade when he found out who Red John was, when he felt victory overwhelm him, when it was decided, when he decided, that the end was near, and he would write that end in Red John's misery and pitiful pleas.

Oh, how he pleaded. He was a man, after all, and his eyes screamed all the words he was not able to, but like any man, it was easy to ignore him, easy to pretend he was a monster after all, a monster who needed to be ripped away from the world by a willing, brave knight who would do what others might not, what others might be too scared to do. He would end the monster, and-

What would he do? The thought didn't cross his mind, not truly, not fully, not until Red John was gone from the world, when the beast that haunted his dreams, his nightmares, his every thought, his every movement, was finally gone.

Maybe he would be captured, tried for his quite understandable offense. Surely killing Red John would afford him some degree of- No, but no one would take pity on him, no one would look upon his face and say that he had been the only in a position to do what was right, what needed to be done, because Red John was pure poison, he was a malignant force unleashed upon the world, and he alone could, would, had stopped it.

He stopped Red John, he stopped everything he had planned, everything he had in mind for the innocents in the world, didn't that count for something? Maybe not, the good people around him would say. He had stained his hands, he had fallen to Red John's level and for that, he should pay, he should rot in a prison cell because- Because it was scary to let a killer on the loose, even if his one and only kill was something beyond a simple man, beyond a simple monster under the bed.

But all would be well. What was one sin when he already had so many to atone for? Except this one he would never wish to strike from his list, this one he would close his eyes and remember for the rest of his miserable life, he would smirk at the way Red John struggled under his strength, how he whimpered as his life wasted away. No, this sin was his to keep, his to enjoy, his to remember and to brag about.

Perhaps no one would understand, and he understood people so well, so much better than they understood themselves for the most part. He was willing to live such a life, for what was a worthless past compared to a blissful future, knowing that his wife and daughter, and countess others, were finally at peace, that their killer had been brought to justice?

And what was more just than death?


End file.
